


stuck inside the tangles of my mind

by scepticallyopenminded



Series: Cross-Postings from Tumblr (Written from 2011-2013) [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, it's really really general, no names are mentioned, you could read it pretty much from anyone's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:56:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepticallyopenminded/pseuds/scepticallyopenminded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, after months of it, you get too used to living on a tour bus, in hotels. Of suitcases that function as your dresser and clean and dirty clothes intermingled. Of new faces and new places every couple of days, and of the same faces every day. </p>
<p>So being suddenly punted out of that world of constant motion, not enough sleep and restaurant and junk food, leaves you jarred. Suddenly, people are familiar, sights and sounds are familiar, and you’re not seeing the same faces twenty-four seven. </p>
<p>As much like it seems like it would be a nice little break from routine, for you, you guess, it’s just not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stuck inside the tangles of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what to say about this. I like it. a lot. I have since I first posted it, since I first started writing it. it was posted in 2012. I remember writing it whilst camping. I have lots of feelings about this fic. I recognize also that it's not technically a Zianourry fic, but it kind of is, bc it's all about the codependency factor. so I'm gonna stick with that tag.
> 
> title is from "Take Me Home" by The Downtown Fiction

The thing is, after months of it, you get too used to living on a tour bus, in hotels. Of suitcases that function as your dresser and clean and dirty clothes intermingled. Of new faces and new places every couple of days, and of the same faces every day.

So being suddenly punted out of that world of constant motion, not enough sleep and restaurant and junk food, leaves you jarred. Suddenly, people are familiar, sights and sounds are familiar, and you’re not seeing the same faces twenty-four seven.

As much like it seems like it would be a nice little break from routine, for you, you guess, it’s just not.

It’s not that you don’t love being home, having a permanent residence for a few weeks and seeing your family; you do, you really, honestly do. But while you’ve been gone, everything’s changed. People are growing older and you’re not there to see it, friends are making new friends and there are new jobs, wedding stories, a whole life that you _were_ a part of, but now, you’re not. And nothing about London screams “home” to you; it’s your life, now, but it’s not home. Your flat is homey enough, with personal touches everywhere, dirty clothes and a nearly empty fridge because you forget to do the grocery shopping, but while it may be _yours_ , it’s not the same.

Something eats at you, as you eat your dinner, of microwaved pizza because you can cook, sure, but not that much. But the pizza just doesn’t hit the spot; you get tired of macaroni and cheese and fried eggs and toast for every meal, but meals at home don’t feel right either, because your parents, your siblings, they’re all talking about people that you used to know, events that you used to attend, things you used to do, and their lives are going on without you, because even with all you do to keep in contact with them, it’s not enough, and you’re slowly slipping away.

So you stick to London, to microwave pizza and spoiled milk and quiet, quiet, too much quiet.

 You look into the mirror that night, staring at yourself, wondering when everything changed. When did you stop trying? When did you fall into your new life? When did you embrace it? When did it stop being so strange for girls to scream at the sight of you, when did it stop being so strange for your fans to know every little detail about you and your life, when did it stop being so strange to hear insane rumours about yourself? Not when everything else changed, but when did _you_ change?

And then you force yourself to stop thinking those thoughts and take a shower instead, because thoughts like that only make you depressed.

You’re caught somewhere between getting dressed and making yourself some tea, or maybe hot chocolate, or just something warm to drink because you feel so cold inside, when there’s a knock at the door, and it’s one of those familiar faces, and even though you just saw him, just the day before yesterday, you can’t help the smile that blooms across your face because finally, something feels right.

He says he can’t sleep, and only then do you realize it’s almost one in the morning, and your thoughts have been taking up a lot of time, and you let him in, making a hot drink for him too because it’s cold, oh so cold.

You end up cuddled together, arms, legs intertwined, watching an old black and white film on the television under a big, warm, fluffy blanket.

“It’s strange,” he whispers, and you don’t have to ask what’s strange; you know, because you all understand each other in a way only you can, because it’s been you, him and them for a long time now, going through it all together. So you just tug him a little closer, arm naturally wrapped around his waist, and start drawing circles on his hip.

“I know,” is all you whisper back, but it’s enough, because he sighs at being understood and you both go back to watching the film.

Somewhere during it you fall into sleep, and wake up hours later, and he’s still curled up next to you, fast asleep and a comforting weight on your arm, and the picture of him asleep, looking younger like all people do when asleep, makes you smile a little bit, and you drift back to sleep after turning off the television, arm tightening a bit around him.

*

*

*

You guys go to breakfast the next day, just a few blocks walk away, walking in comfortable silence most of the way, making a little comment here or there, but nothing serious, and you’re grateful to him for that, because it leaves you free to take in the sounds of a big city, which are comforting. It’s not what you grew up with, necessarily, but it’s what you’ve encountered for the past few months, and the sounds are familiar.

Breakfast is also a quiet affair, leaving a lot of time for thinking and it might be one of the first times your grateful for silence, because usually, you feed off noise, even if it’s just the quiet whisper of someone. You’re not sure what it all signifies, so you stop trying to make sense of everything and just enjoy the well-made, probably a little overly-greasy meal in front of you.

It’s not long before you’re making your way back to the building, and saying goodbye to the lad that’s made the past twelve hours at least slightly bearable, and when you enter your flat again, it’s so frustratingly quiet again, and you pull at your hair, annoyed, frustrated, and you just want it all to go away.

You’ll get used to it, you know; by the time you make the drive back home in a couple of days, you’ll have gotten over the idea of everyone moving on in their lives without you, and you’ll enjoy the time with your family, and you’ll probably even be glad for a break from constant motion and be glad for a time for relaxing. Eventually, you’ll get used to having absolutely nothing you _have_ to do, and it’ll be a nice few weeks off, and you’ll be able to stay away from the boys without missing them, and it’ll be a nice break from them, too.

Eventually, more likely soon enough, you’ll get used to the slow pace of life again, but for now, the _nothingness_ is frustrating and you feel like pulling your hair out.

For now, you’re just sad and annoyed and frustrated and another hundred indescribable feelings that leave a lingering pain in the general area of your heart.

For now, all you can think is about how much _you’ve_ changed, how much _everything’s_ changed, and how much you wish you were back to living in hotels and tour buses and too many interviews, too many photo shoots, too much driving, too many airplanes, screaming and routine and singing and falling into bed too exhausted to even think.

In a couple of days, you’ll get into a new routine, but for now, all you want to do is curl up in a little ball and sob.

So you do.

And when you do go home, things start settling in, for the couple of weeks your there, you’re able to enjoy yourself, and even in going back to London, you still have a few weeks off, and you enjoy it, catching up with friends you certainly don’t see enough and going out and just having fun and relaxing.

But even then, you can’t help that tiny, little niggling in your heart that can’t wait until your life starts it’s fast pace again.

Finally, as the end of your break is nearing, you realize; things’ll never be the same. When you said “yes” that day so many years ago, when you decided that you’d try out being in a band and being famous and having girls lusting after you, you gave up your old life. And once you got a taste of what it felt like to travel all over the world, to do what you so much _do_ love to do, you’ll never be happy without it.

You essentially sold your soul to an industry that tears people apart, and the only thing you can do now is go with the flow and hope for the best—you’re way past the point of being saved, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [onedirectionaremyfirstlove](http://onedirectionaremyfirstlove.tumblr.com/) or [asocialfoxpaw](http://asocialfoxpaw.tumblr.com/)


End file.
